Memories, Promises
by Ellynne
Summary: Rumplestiltskin dreams and remembers before he decides to visit Zelena in her cell.


_The crippled spinner wanders the battlefield. All around him are the cries of the wounded and the dying, but he barely notices them as he desperately searches for the one face he hopes—and fears—to find. _

_He remembers his son telling him that he wasn't afraid to serve among the soldiers if that was what was required of him. He remembers making his choice, leaving the Dark One's dagger behind rather than take the dark magic that his son feared more than death. He remembers his son's smile at his father's choice before the soldiers led him away._

_He sees the small shape lying on the ground. The crows have clustered round it, but he sees familiar homespun. He cries out at the birds, but they have long sense learned not to be afraid of men, not in this charnel house. He has to strike at them with his staff, stumbling, then falling to his knees (he ignores the familiar, burning pain in his old wounds as bone meets earth). They fly away as he crawls to the small figure's side._

_He turns the face towards him. So pale, so peaceful. The gaping wound in the boy's chest shows where the Ogre's spiked club struck him. It must have been fast. It must have been near the start of the battle before he had seen any of his friends fall. How else could he look so calm, so innocent, even in death? He never had the chance to learn how great the gulf is between his childish dreams of being a hero and the terrible truths of the battlefield._

_Rumplestiltskin holds his son's shattered remains in his arms, rocking him back and forth, as if he is comforting him, as if this is all a terrible nightmare from which he will wake, and weeps._

X

_He awakens, called back from the darkness. Memories, a feeling of peace slipping away from him as he opens his eyes on a cold, twilight world around him. He sees the one who has drawn him forth, sees the love and forgiveness in his son's eyes, even as he realizes the price his son has unknowingly paid for this. It must be unknowing. Bae could not—he _cannot_—have knowingly traded his beautiful, wonderful life, so full of hope and promise, for the life of the evil, wretched failure that is his father._

_But, he hears Zelena's laughter, and he is alone in the forest outside Storybrooke where his son chose death again to try and save those he loves._

X

_He is in a cage in his own palace. He spins, trying to forget the orders Zelena had given him that he had to obey, trying to forget the feel of her hands, her lips, the words he said because she wanted them said, wishing he could wash away the stench of her that clings to his skin._

X

_Another cage. A darker pit. He feels cold blows across his heart as the first shovelful of earth falls on his son's grave. She mocks him. Then, she tells him he needs a distraction, to think of better things, and orders him to come out. . . ._

X

_Cora holds the dagger, and the poison is purged from him. His son, brave as his father has never been brave, raises his sword to try and defend him. For a moment, he thinks she will banish him with magic. Instead, Cora smiles at Rumplestiltskin as he lies on his deathbed and orders him to rise up and kill Bae._

X

_He faces Locksley and his men when the child, in the way of children, returns too soon. Rumplestiltskin turns the arrow that was aimed for him to the child. But, this time, Locksley says nothing to stop it. He hears the archer laughing at him as the arrow finds its way home. The laughter turns into Zelena's, and it is his own son's dead eyes looking up at him._

X

_He is a madman, gibbering in a cell deep beneath the earth, when Snow White and her consort come to ask their questions. This is the moment he has been waiting for, the way to his son is almost within his grasp. But, instead of answering them, he pulls out the paper. It is covered with his son's name, written over and over again, instead of the savior's. He scatters the names into oblivion, blowing them against the bars of his cage. He laughs as he falls upon his guards, giggling as they beg for mercy, not even understanding what they are saying. Snow White falls beneath his claws and teeth. Her unborn daughter's heart grows still. It is only as he stares at one of the murdered guards, blank eyes staring blindly back at him, that he sees the familiar lines of his face and remembers what the man said as he died._

"_Papa, don't. It's me. Papa—"_

"_I will change time, Rumplestiltskin," Zelena says, coming up behind him, hands running over his shoulder and down his back. "We will meet in other circumstances, and you will choose me."_

_He stares at the dead faces, all the same, around him, wondering at the tears that run down his face as Zelena caresses him._

X

_It is the past, the battle he first dreamed. But, this time, he is transformed, a monster, an Ogre (but cleverer than an Ogre, more powerful than any Ogre could ever be), treading down the lives before him. In the air above, Zelena sends out her flames, hunting down the survivors. A boy, his face brave and resolute, stands before him. His sword is awkwardly held. He has not had time to learn to use it. The monster laughs as he strikes the blow across the child's chest. The child falls, his face strangely at peace, as if he slept, fearless and untroubled. But, the monster does not notice, going on, continuing his work of death._

_He hears Zelena's joyful laughter, warm as lips against his skin, and sighs in pleasure, glad that she is glad. He does not see the crows gather or hear the cries of the crippled spinner as he finds his child's corpse._

"_One more thing, Rumple," Zelena tells him. "One more gift you can give me. A girl, Belle of the Marchlands, I want you to kill her for me. But, you will take your time—"_

X

_**No!**_

Rumplestiltskin wakes, his heart pounding against his ribs.

Just a dream, he tries to tell himself. But, it's not. Bae is dead.

Bae is dead.

Belle is alive.

As is Zelena.

He shudders, remembering too much of the past year, too much that Zelena did to him, too much that she had him do.

He is shaking. Belle, lying beside him, sleeps on.

He didn't give her the promise she asked for, not to kill Zelena. The words died in his mouth.

Zelena will get the dagger again. He knows it. She will get it in her hands and she will tell him, this time, to murder Belle, and he will be unable to stop her.

She told him to murder a child. He helped her steal a newborn baby knowing she meant to sacrifice it, knowing how painful the small one's death would be as her spell tore away his life.

He had pointed the arrow at Roland, Locksley's son, knowing that was the only thing that would make him give up Regina's heart, knowing the overwhelming power of a father's love for a child. It was stupid in the extreme. Rumplestiltskin could have told him so. Let Zelena succeed, and Roland might never even be born.

She would kill Belle.

Even death hadn't been enough to protect him from his enemies. Even dying to save the ones he loved couldn't keep them safe.

A cage wouldn't hold Zelena, not for long. She would worm mercy out of the Charmings as she had already wormed it even out of her sister's dark, maggot eaten heart.

He had trusted the little prince and princess once with the secret of his dagger, trying to save his own life. They had handed it to his enemies, though they knew he would have murdered them all at Cora's command. How long before, in mercy or stupidity, they return Zelena's poison-green gem to her? They did nothing, not even frown, when Regina held up the dagger enslaving him and ordered him to let go the woman who had murdered his son—his _son!_

Because the murderer was her sister. Because Zelena's life meant something to her.

And Bae's meant nothing.

Just as Belle's life meant nothing to her. Regina had laughed as she told him Belle was dead. She had held the dagger and commanded him as if he were a dog—as Zelena had—and smiled at her new-found goodness.

The one choice Zelena had allowed him to make—the one time she had let him choose to come to her willingly, knowing she would save his son if he just gave her what she wanted—he had honored Bae's sacrifice instead.

He _had_ to. Even if Bae had been reborn in the world Zelena meant to recreate, even if Rumplestiltskin had never lost him—even if Bae himself never knew how terribly his father had betrayed everything Bae believed in to save him—he could never have met his son's eyes again. His son had died believing his father would honor that sacrifice, would use the small grace of time and sanity his son bought him to save those Bae loved.

He could have saved Bae.

He knew Bae would never forgive him if he had.

He had to tell himself that. He had to believe it. Bae had sacrificed himself, and his father had to honor that sacrifice.

Princess Aurora was a distant cousin of Lord Maurice's dead wife. Zelena, like a master throwing her hound a bone, had agreed to spare Aurora if she did what Zelena ordered. When she hadn't, even though Aurora was heavy with her coming child, Zelena had shown her no mercy.

Her hair was the same color as Belle's.

Zelena had made him watch in a mirror. In his madness, he had seen visions of Belle standing before her, knowing she was carrying their child—

—_He was standing in the streets of Storybrooke again, facing his father as he reached out to crush Bae's heart. He confronted him—_

—_And Zelena turned to face him, laughing as she brought out the dagger and ordered him to murder Belle and Baelfire both._

He looked at the small nightstand by the bed in the back of his shop. His dagger lay on it, silver metal against the dark wood.

_The proof of our trust._

_Keep this. Guard it for me._

_I love you. I trust you_

He picked it up. Rumplestiltskin closed his eyes, remembering every time he had promised himself he would avenge Bae. More than that, he would stop Zelena from ever hurting anyone he loved again. When he was ready to crawl, to kiss her boots, and be her loyal dog if it would spare anyone or anything he cared about—no, more than that, when he was ready to do anything if it would just end the pain inside him—he had held onto that promise.

When he was ready to hold her, to make love to her, to whisper every poisoned word she wanted him to say, if it would just end it—

He couldn't. He couldn't do that to his son, to Belle.

Trust. Love.

He would avenge Bae.

He would protect Belle.

With a wave of his hand, another dagger, identical to the one he held, appeared on the nightstand. _Follow the lady,_ he thought, thinking of the one useful thing his father had ever done for him.

He leaned over Belle, kissing her gently on the brow. She was smiling in her sleep.

_I'm sorry._

Then, he vanished, reappearing outside Zelena's cell, savoring the sight of her, powerless and caged, before he killed her.


End file.
